


Maybe we started this fire

by GrantaireandHisBottle



Series: Why would you cry on Christmas [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Angst, Christmas Spirit, Courfeyrac - the Rudolph a red nose reindeer, Hugs, M/M, first snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 22:08:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrantaireandHisBottle/pseuds/GrantaireandHisBottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s only November, but slowly the Christmas’s taste and spirits cover every corner, every street, every heart. Grantaire’s eyes wonder around the shop windows. Then he stops suddenly. Blinks several times. And then smiles.</p><p>In the small shop he has noticed Enjolras. He is standing there, choosing which pair of socks to buy. On his serious face the doubt is visible. And he looks so natural and strange at the same time, that Grantaire just stands in front of the window, looking at him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe we started this fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ibbyliv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/gifts).



> Excuse my English( And I have a Christmas mood. Also go and listen Bastille Things We Lost In The Fire, it's so good.
> 
> Happy weekend, everyone

To be able to feel happiness for the smallest of things requires practice. And the specific situation or a life style. To be happy, when you have 20 Euros in your jeans pocket and know that it will be enough to feed yourself for a couple of days. To feel a bit cheered up when there is no rain and it is not that cold. To smile when you find something that inspires you.

Grantaire sighs heavily, sitting on the pavement, eating a sandwich. Thoughts of searching a positive side in every situation sucks. It sucks, because instead of painting he has to think about where to get money to pay for the rent. He unconsciously rubs his unshaved cheek, chewing bread with salami. He attends the History of Art and Photography classes while it is free for public. Everything else can be found out in Google.

Grantaire puts on the hood on his black curls and reaches for the can of Coke. The dark blue backpack is lying on the asphalt near him. Inside there are his laptop and the notebook with pencils. Sometimes Grantaire thinks about how his life would look like if he had more money. He thoughtfully bites the sandwich, which he is holding in his left hand. He likes his clothes: baggy t-shirt and skinny jeans, dirty white Converse, green hoodie…He would buy a scarf. And maybe gloves. Those ones, without fingertips, because it would be more comfortable to draw, sitting outside, on the streets. 

He sighs again as the thought about Christmas appears in his mind. Grantaire wants to make a present for Jehan, for his boyfriend Courfeyrac. And for Combeferre and even Marius. For Gavroche too. 

The cold wind bites his fingers painfully. Grantaire stands up jerkily, picking up his backpack. Christmas is good. It supposes to be. When you have someone to share the atmosphere and warmth of the blanket and the Home alone movie. Of course Jehan has already invited Grantaire to spend holidays with Courfeyrac and him, but…Grantaire shakes his head, throwing a mental image of Courfeyrac, dressed up in the Rudolph a red nose reindeer’s horns and bowtie only, chasing Jehan all around the house. 

The most painful part of the situation is the fact that Grantaire actually likes Christmas. He likes to play carols on his guitar and sing them quietly. He just becomes used of spending it alone. Grantaire walks down the street, hands in the hoodie’s pockets. 

Paris is the city of light. Even the smallest of the shops and cafes has their own unique lights and scents. They all shine and play with colors and shades and that is amazing. It’s only November, but slowly the Christmas’s spirits and tastes cover every corner, every street, every heart. Grantaire’s eyes wonder around the shop windows. Then he stops suddenly. Blinks several times. And smiles a bit.

In the small shop he has noticed Enjolras. He is standing there, choosing which pair of socks to buy. On his serious face the doubt is visible. And he looks so natural and strange at the same time, that Grantaire just stands in front of the window, looking at him. Enjolras takes out his wallet and with a pair of violet woolen socks walks to the cashier. 

Grantaire feels himself so miserable. He just wants to hug the marble hero. To be sure that his hands are warm and his heart is beating in the noble cage. Enjolras’s outfit is good, in dark red, brown, grey and creamy colors, with leather gloves and leather bag on his shoulder. Grantaire is biting the inner side of his right cheek, watching Enjolras, who is now paying with his Master Card. As he waits to enter the pin, he pulls the golden lock away from his eyes. The Artist slowly makes a step away from the shop, not sure if he has a right to spy on Apollo. His eyes catch the banner with a commercial of a new Acer laptop: “Turning dream into reality”. He smirks sadly and then hears the sound of the door of the shop being opened. He reaches for a pack of cigarettes in his backpack. 

“Hello, Grantaire.”

That voice sounds tired. Grantaire turns his head, a cigarette between his teeth and waves his hand.  
Enjolras looks beautiful. And he wants to hug him. To be sure he is real.

“How are you today?”

“Better then yesterday. I have been working on our project. That one about the unemployment, which we’ve started yesterday…You don’t remember I suppose, you were drunk.”

The bitter taste on the pale lips, left by the cigarette. 

“I wasn’t that drunk. I remember your looks and disappointment in your voice.”

Golden locks and the wind playing with them. 

“You seem to enjoy when I am angry.”

“The only one way to make you look at me.” Grantaire is avoiding Enjolras’s gaze. 

“Sometimes I think you enjoy being melancholic and pessimistic. Like if it gives the excuse to your sarcasm and cynicism.”

Grantaire’s heart echoes with dull pain in his heart. “Don’t fill your clever head with silly thoughts, Apollo.”

Enjolras rolls his eyes, but says nothing as they cross the street. Grantaire throws away his cigarette and shivers from cold. Enjolras silently pulls off his gloves and gives them to the dark-haired man. 

Grantaire stops and stares at the hand and gloves. Then looks at Enjolras. In his blue eyes the leader of the activism organization can see pain and bitterness. He frowns. “You are cold, take them.”

“Ah, Enjolras, you can’t be good for everyone. Your little good things won’t help you to end up in Heaven, believe me.”

“Why are you doing this? Why do you always have to be like that? I am just offering you gloves, because you are cold and yo…”

“Because, Enjolras, you should have seen your gaze when you’ve decided to help.” Grantaire has made an emphasis on the last word. “Like I am a stain on your essay.”

Grantaire looks for the last time in the ember eyes of his Apollo and walks away. He is used to be alone. Maybe it’s just an excuse of his cynicism and sarcasm and bitter thoughts and ….

Fuck that. He just loves Enjolras so much. And feels himself unworthy and dirty even to look at him. Yet he pisses Enjolras off every time they meet. Fuck that. A nice glass…Bottle of vodka will do a little help. 

 

And Enjolras himself is standing in the crowd, suddenly realizing that the first snowflake falls on his cheek. He is breathing, swallowing the cold air and the bitter sound of the hoarse voice. The images of drunk Grantaire, talking awfully pessimistic things about their activism. Grantaire’s doodles and broken smiles. Enjolras hesitates. It is bad, when Grantaire is not present on their meetings. They are not the same without him.

 

“Grantaire, wait!”

Enjolras runs through the crowd of tourists, searching for the thin figure of the Artist. Why can’t he just…Shit.

“Grantaire?”

They meet and look at each other and inside blue eyes he can see the whole city, crashing down. He can see the remains of hope sliding down the cheeks, turning into water. Enjolras slowly reaches his hand and wipes it away from Grantaire’s cheeks. 

“I’ve bought you socks for Christmas.”

Grantaire chuckles, his nose is red because of the cold wind and salty water in his eyes. “You’ve bought me socks?”

Enjolras nods, starting laughing, realizing how silly they do look and sound. 

“Why?”

“I didn’t know what to buy you for Christmas.”

“To buy? Me?”

“Yes, I am…Hell, don’t make it too complicated. Because despite your sarcastic shit you are not that bad.”

“I must be dreaming, because to hear that I am actually not that bad, from you, Apollo, it’s a bit surreal.”

“Because when everyone leaves Musain you keep sitting there. Alone and drunk, managing to make me to work harder…to change the world and prove you that we are not useless and we do…Don’t you dare laughing at me when I am confessing my soul!”

“That’s why you have bought me violet socks for Christmas? To prove that I am wrong and you are making the world a better place to live? And you are still asking me why I am laughing?”

The snow falls on golden hair of Enjolras as he takes a deep breath. Grantaire is standing in front of him. People around them don’t pay any attention. It is ironical of how many dramas are unheard and unnoticed in the every day life. Because for everyone it is an absolutely different story and they don’t give a damn about others. 

Enjolras sighs very and very deeply as he watches Grantaire laughing silently. “I knew it was a stupid idea to tell you.”

“About socks?”

“About everything. And yes, about bloody socks too.”

But Grantaire only makes a step and hugs Enjolras. The embrace is tight and he feels how skinny the Artist is. And how cold. 

“Enjolras?”

“Um-huh?”

“Nothing. I just love your name. And your hair. And your disappointed looks. And your fucking activism. Don’t you ever change, okay?”

Enjolras feels himself strange. He hugs Grantaire and for once in a long time he enjoys the physical contact with another person. Courfeyrac keeps telling him that he is asexual and that’s why he is useless to the society. 

Grantaire’s cheek is unshaved and he smells of oil paints and cheep sandwich. And snow falls on their heads. 

When they break the hug, Grantaire is happy. The difference in his eyes is colossal. He accepts the gloves and they walk down the street together. Enjolras wants to touch the Artist’s hand, but hesitates. Until Grantaire grabs his left arm tightly and drags him away, smiling like a Cheshire Cat. 

_Grantaire’s lips must be warm. And bitter. Just a bit._ Enjolras thinks absent-mindedly. 

_Do you understand that we will never be the same again?_  
 _The future's in our hands and we will never be the same again_


End file.
